A Good Day
by Caroha
Summary: Loosely based on this prompt: It's the 1920s and con artists Stiles Stillinski and Lydia Martin are on the run for many scandalous crimes. Despite being quite known to Los Angeles residents, they still manage to fool victims with their tricks and acts. Their encounters end with murder, theft and/or fraud. Most of the time, it's murder and the fugitives flee with money.


Lydia had been the love of his life since the day he'd met her. He was 10, and she was the new girl at the school he was lucky enough to attend. She'd seemed so angelic, so unattainable to someone like him, someone who had to work day to day to be fed.  
He could remember the exact moment she'd seen him though, really seen _him._ It was seven years later, he was walking home from the job he'd taken to help his father keep the house, when he caught a glimpse of white amongst the grey pallor of the stone houses that lined the street. As he peered closer he was piecing together pieces of the puzzle. She seemed desperate to gain entry to that house, almost clawing up the stairs towards the man Stiles recognised as the boy she'd been going with last he'd seen her, almost 6 months ago. He'd rushed over to her, just in time to catch her as she was pushed down the couple of steps from the house. He'd helped her up, then, in his anger at seeing her treated so cruelly, he'd beaten the man to death.  
Sometimes he felt guilt for the crimes he'd committed, but killing a man who beat woman was something he was incapable of feeling guilty for, and the fact that the law disagreed was an abhorrence. Since then, everything he'd done was to protect her.  
They'd been on the run ever since, and close to capture more than once. Today was a good day though. She was laying in their hotel room bed next to him, her gorgeous red hair spread around her, a soft smile on her lips and a white sheet only just covering her. The remnants of last night were spread around the room, jewels on the dresser, clothes on the ground, opium on the desk, gun in the drawer next to him.

Lydia started to wake, wondering where she was. Looking around, all she saw was the mess of last night, but as she rolled over and found her husband staring at her, it all fell away as she got lost in his eyes. Every time they ever talked about their pasts, she couldn't believe she'd wasted 7 years of knowing him not being with him. She'd always thought he was weak, that he'd never be able to keep up with her physically or intellectually. It wasn't until he'd saved her from herself (and that bastard of a boyfriend) that she'd realised she might have misjudged him, and threw everything to the wind to be with him. Their crimes were numerous, but well planned and executed, so they were rarely in any trouble. Their misdeeds afforded them a life he'd have never been able to give her otherwise, and the adventure made her blood sing.  
As she moved closer to him, she curled a naked leg over his, and her arm on his neck, pulling him towards her to place a light, drawn out kiss on his lips.

His wife drove him absolutely crazy in every possible way. He'd been watching her sleep, then she'd woken up and given him a kiss that set his very soul on fire. "So," she said in that husky, oh-so-sexy morning voice of hers he loved, "what shall we do today?" He could see the mischievous twinkle in her eye, the one that told him today would be a busy day.

Lydia knew exactly what drove her husband wild, which was exactly why she did it. While her eyes were screaming mischief, she could see that his were lit by the same mischievous glint, though they were clouded a little more by the lust she'd inspired. She watched him as he leaned back and the sheet slid further down his chest. She paid no attention to what he was actually doing as he stretched his body out, accentuating the rough muscles of his stomach, and before she knew it, he had his gun in front of her, blocking her view.

He could tell she wasn't watching him, wasn't actually concerned with what he was grabbing from the drawers next to the bed, because her eyes were stuck firmly on his abs. Pulling the gun from the drawer, he put it in front of his stomach, and watched as her eyes widened and looked back at him, the surprise on her face melting away as she replaced it with a look of intrigue.  
"The answer to your question, dear wife, is, as always: whatever we want."  
He knew his response had pleased her because within .02 seconds of closing his mouth, she had closed the distance between them, pushed him onto his back and started kissing him as if he was her supply of oxygen. As he struggled to blindly find a surface on which to place the gun, a final thought occurred to him; today would be a good day.


End file.
